Here Without You
by DanniWolf27
Summary: The days tick by since Natasha got the news that Clint Barton was dead. She is marble on the outside, cold and collected, but inside she's just a child's art project: broken pieces and glue. Halfway across the world, Agent Hawk struggles to remember who he is. He watches them make the Winter Soldier. Where Winter fails, the Hawk will not- as long as his handler keeps him from her.
1. Weak

_No more love to purchase, I've invested in myself_

_You know nothing about me, keep opinions to yourself_

_No more complications, everything's just swell_

_No more obligations, there's nothing more to tell_

_I just want to be alone_

_-Seether_

_Pop, Pop, Pop._

Natasha has an agreement with her gun. She aims and fires, it hits the target, every time. It never lets her down.

_I'm not leaving you anytime soon, Nat—_

She pushed the voice from her head, squeezing off a few more rounds. Her gun can't leave. Her gun can't die. She loves it for that. Finally, Natasha laid the gun down on the table, surveying her handiwork at the far end of the range. Her eyes drifted to the far wall, to the years of famous arms that hung there. Ancient swords and guns, all the way down to a modern re-curve bow.

_My bow's got a space on that wall, Nat. I'm just that cool._

_ Why would Tony make room on his special wall for your hunk of metal?_

He had looked aghast, and she almost smiled at the memory. But his bow shouldn't be hanging up there in honor of their fallen team mate. It should be at his side. "Oh, Clint," she murmured, frowning at it. Her own gun clattered when she tossed it onto the table and made a hasty exit, hoping no one saw her staring teary-eyed at the Stark Amory Wall.

The living room was eerily silent as Natasha settled into her chair at the table to wait. She knew Cap was late on purpose- he'd never make her wait unless he had a reason too.

When Bruce sat down across from her with his morning paper, she realized what that reason was. She had been running from this conversation all week, but Bruce was determined, and now he had even gotten Steve to help pin her into talking.

"How are you doing?" He asked finally.

"Get off my case, doc," she replied over the rim of her mug. "I have a team of SHEILD psychologists that say I'm making adequate progress."

"But they can't tell when you're lying to them."

"And you can?"

He sighed. "No. I can't. But I'd like to think you wouldn't-"

"I would lie to you, and you know it. I'll tell you something, though. A long time ago, someone told me to stop trying to find a place to call home. 'Make your skeleton the only structure you need,' he said." She stood, picking up her keys and half-empty coffee mug. "I am all I need. I didn't need him, and I don't need condolences and psycho-analyzations. I was better off when everyone was afraid of me. I had much more room to breathe." She walked away then, not even glancing back as Bruce stared after her.

Safely in the elevator, Natasha leaned back against the wall and let her eyes slide closed. It had been two whole weeks since Clint Barton died, and it still tore a hole right through her chest. She remembered when the SHEILD agent had shown up at the door to the Stark tower, his bow in hand. "We're returning it to you, since he had no living family members." Thinking back, she should have told them Barney was alive, go find Barney, but it was all she could do to keep her feet beneath her as they placed the cool metal in her hand. It was familiar, that bow; Clint had taught her to shoot it many years ago. Back when they were fresh partners, trying to learn each other's weapons and minds. It hadn't taken long before Natasha had actually forgotten how it felt to be alone. To live for yourself and fight for what you want. To not have a friend or rules to live by or missions to complete.

How quickly things can change once you begin to feel comfortable where you are.

The elevator dinged to announce her arrival, and she stepped out slowly, relishing the feeling of carpet beneath her feet. Many of the floors in the Stark Tower were custom, and they were all different. This was one of the only ones carpeted (because carpet is so hard to clean, Tony had complained.) She managed to walk past Clint's door without pausing, straight into her own room.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Romanoff?" She had broken him of the ma'am habit months ago, but he retained his upmost formality.

"Let Steve know I won't be going out with him today. Extend my apologies, if you will."

"Of course."

With that, she was alone again.


	2. 10th Man Down

Today I killed, he was just a boy

Eight before him, I knew them all

In the fields a dying oath...

I'd kill them all to save my own

Deliver me from this war

-NightWish

"Natasha," Pepper always sounds so formal on the phone. "Hello."

"Hi. How are you?" Her voice came out a little rough, probably due to the fact that her throat had just been caught between a very strong pair of hands.

"I'm doing well. How are you?"

"Great." She replied as she drove her heel into the man's solar plexus. He doubled over as his ribs cracked and he tried to draw a breath.

"That's wonderful. Do you want to call me back? You sound busy."

"No." Pepper's words unintentionally hid the sound of a cracking skull from her. "Why did you call?"

"I was returning your call."

Natasha rolled her eyes and stretched her shoulder out. It gave a pop in protest. "I was returning your call last week, which I missed. So why did you call in the first place?"

"Oh. I was calling to invite you to dinner next Tuesday-" the receiver crackled as Pepper pulled it away from her mouth. Natasha could hear another voice in the background, presumably Stark. "I was, but I was just informed that you were busy."

"With whom?"

"Tony."

"Ah." She huffed as she pulled the large man's thumb up to the print scanner on the wall. It unlocked with a tinny chime. "What are we doing?"

"Going out to dinner, apparently."

She didn't attempt to argue. She couldn't care less where she had dinner that night, be it a restaurant or her own couch. And Tony wasn't the worst to dine with. He made good conversation and always picked up the tab. "When and where?"

The receiver muffled for a moment before pepper's voice returned. "He'll pick you up at 6:30. Dress nicely."

"Yes ma'am." Natasha murmured, only half sarcastically. Pepper was one of the few people that deserved to be called ma'am. "I have to finish this, if you don't mind." She said finally as she heard three sets of approaching footsteps. She figured this fight would be easier with two hands.

"Of course, dear. Lovely talking to you."

"And you, Pepper," she replied, then clicked the phone shut.

_An excerpt from the SHEILD files_

_[there is a barely audible click as the recording begins]_

"Please state your name and SHEILD id number for the recording."

"Natasha Romanov. 167449."

"I am Doctor Robertson. This is part three of your comprehensive psychological evaluation. Keep in mind, everything you say here is completely confidential—

"In accordance with the HIPPA laws, yes, I know," _[Natasha interrupts.]_ "You're recording for my personal records and SHEILD's file on me. We've been through this before."

"You're more hostile than the last time we spoke. Do you wish to talk about this?"

"No."

"Do you experience this anger in your daily life, or only during evaluations?"

_[Silence ensues. The doctor clears her throat.]_

"Natasha, you have to open up more. I cannot clear you until you share with me what's going on inside your head."

"I don't understand this."

"Understand what?"

"Why I need to be cleared."

"This is just standard process. I understand you are already completing missions, though, yes?"

"Yes."

"And how does that make you feel? To be working alone?"

"I've always worked alone."

"What happened in your most recent mission? How did you dislocate your shoulder?"

"It's a long story."

"A fight? A fall?"

"A fight."

"Did you do more damage to him than he did to you?"

"He's dead, doctor."

"Does that bother you?"

"People die all the time."

"Yes, they do. That is the purpose of this evaluation. We want to know how death has affected you.."

"Clint wasn't my handler. He was my friend." _[Natasha pauses.] _"When my handler died, you didn't put me through extensive evaluations. You said sorry and sent me on my way. Every time I kill on a mission, you don't even acknowledge what I've done."

"We're just trying to figure out how much you know."

"How much I know about what?"

"Do you know how Clint died?"

"Don't answer my question with a question."

"Did you go to his funeral?"

"Yes, of course I went to his funeral."

"So you believe he's gone."

"Dead people don't come back, Dr. Robertson. Are we done here?"

_[the sound of pen scratching on paper.]_ "Yes, we are. You may go."


	3. Ghosts

I saw your ghost tonight

It fucking hurt like hell

I felt you here tonight

But dreams can't all be real

-Blink 182

Natasha awoke too early. It was just after three, something wasn't right.

Jarvis confirmed that's the windows and doors were secure, but a spy learned to rely on her instincts, so she went to check herself. She took her gun from its place on her bedside table and padded quietly down the hall, checking empty rooms off in her mind as she cleared them.

Natasha kicked Steve's door as she came by it, hoping the soldier would awaken, only to remember that he was long gone, off with Bruce for some historical technology convention in Los Angeles. She realized that she was practically alone, save Tony, who was two floors down in his room with Pepper. She didn't risk asking Jarvis to wake them for fear that the intruder would over hear.

_Calm, _she told herself. _There's no reason to believe anyone's actually here. You're just checking._

"Jarvis, make sure-" Natasha cut off as she heard the twang of a bow string behind her. She ducked and rolled around the corner, gun raised, and saw an arrow embed itself in the wall where her head had been.

_Earlier_

The explosion rattled the glasses on the counter. Natasha stood, expression wary, reaching for the baseball bat someone had left leaning in the doorway. She hefted it up onto her shoulder and moved quietly, waiting for Jarvis' voice or the fire alarm. Finally she heard shouts as the sprinklers went off downstairs in the labs.

She heard Tony's voice as she descended the stairs. "—better come back here, this is half your fault—"

"Key word half, Tony," Bruce threw back as he passed her on the stairs. "It's a disaster down there. I'd stay clear unless you want to get roped into helping."

Natasha raised a brow. "I'd rather see the carnage." When she reached the landing, she saw that Bruce had understated the situation completely. The glass doors to the lab had been shattered, and the inside looked like a winter wonderland. Everything, including Tony himself, had been coated in thick white fire extinguishing foam. Not to mention the gaping six-foot wide hole in the wall, letting in the afternoon city breeze.

Tony turned when he heard her soft laughter. "What?"

"You look ridiculous."

He managed to look offended, but he preened at her amusement. "I wear foam well."

"You blew a hole in the wall, Tony,"

"We needed ventilation there anyways."

The wind tugged the plastic sheeting back, revealing the city beyond, bright and alive despite the early hour. The archer had pushed Natasha back until she was cornered in the lab, never letting her get a good look at him in the dark. Whoever he was, he was good.

_But I'm better._

She pressed herself against the wall. It only took a moment to orient herself and aim. She fired two shots into the dark and felt satisfaction flow over her when she heard the grunt. Upstairs, a light came on. It filtered downstairs, showing the silhouette of her attacker as he struggled to his feet. "I've got you now, bastard," she growled, raising her gun one last time.

Emergency lights came on, flooding the lab in pale white light. Natasha froze.

Tony called her name as he came down the stairs.

Her attacker raised his bow and notched another arrow.

She shook herself into action as the arrow flew towards her. _Your eyes lie,_ she told herself, dropping to a knee and sliding sideways behind a desk. Her eyes had to be lying, because dead men don't come into your home in the night and try and kill you. Dead friends don't do that. Because they're dead.

"Natasha!" Tony leapt over the last few stairs, taking the archer by surprise. He turned and tried to fire at tony, but Natasha was quicker. She came from behind and pulled the bow over his head, pulling the string taught against his neck. For a long moment, they struggled, but the man she held was strong. His elbow connected solidly with her ribs and they turned, rolling and pinning one another.

She felt the cold wind against her back as he went for the knife on his belt. She wasn't thinking anymore, just reacting. She drove her fist into his thigh where the blood seeped through his pants. He gasped when she hit the wound, and she used the moment of distraction against him—by leaning her shoulder into his chest and vaulting him over her back.

She didn't turn when she heard the shout and rustle of plastic as he fell through the hole. She didn't flinch at the sickening sound of a body hitting the pavement three floors below. She hardly breathed until she heard Tony at her side. "I've gone insane."

"I saw Clint too, Nat." He moved to put a hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it and let his arm drop to his side.

When she got her nerve, she followed him to the hole and moved the plastic aside. Her stomach dropped the three stories beneath her, all the way to the blood spattered pavement. The _empty_ blood spattered pavement.

"I've really gone insane, haven't I?"


End file.
